


Things You Learn When Sharing a Bed

by arianakristine



Series: Cereal [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ridiculous Sentence Prompt, UST, Unresolved Romantic Tension, or rather, the forehead thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 16:21:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4398914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arianakristine/pseuds/arianakristine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She decides to drop all pretenses (well, almost all of them).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things You Learn When Sharing a Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Follow-up to Charges: Theft of Cereal and Unexpected Resurrection. Ridiculous Sentence Prompt, "I understand the whole sleep talking thing but what I don't understand is the princess dragon dream and why I'm in it."

                On the third night, she decides to drop all pretenses.

                Well … almost all of them.

                The couch is small and short, and he is not (and when she closed the door to her bedroom the other nights, she imagined him sinking into the ground and covered in earth and sucked back to where he came from and never with her again).

                So, she grabs his hand and pulls him into her bedroom, melding her whole self into the contours of his body. She inhales spice and pine and somehow still leather, warm and crisp and unlocking every memory of whenever they were close enough to touch and yet chose not to. She doesn’t want to waste any more opportunities, not when something still aches with the knowledge of how his absence had felt.

                They don’t do anything but sleep, tangled so tightly against one another that she can scarcely breathe (she scoots even closer in response, the steady tattoo of his heart the only thing keeping her sane).

                When Emma wakes the next morning, Graham is propped up on an elbow, brushing her hair back with long, gentle strokes. His eyes are soft, but as soon as he realizes she’s awake, his mannerisms change. He curls a strand of hair around a finger, and a lopsided grin crosses his face.

                She pushes back the stir of emotion that the gentle look had ignited, and raises a brow. “What?” she asks groggily. She inhales deeply and stretches like a cat, long and languid (she tries not to think of the relief that pools in her belly at the sight of him).

                His blue-grey eyes are mischievous as he replies. “You talk in your sleep.”

                She scoffs and pushes against his weight-bearing arm, letting him tumble back onto the pillow. “Seriously?”

                He grabs her wrist and pulls her half on top of him. He looks light and happy and free, so different that any other time she’s seen him. She can barely notice the bruises and cuts on him; they are fading to pale yellow and pink, and with this expression she doesn’t even feel the need to inventory them anymore.

                With a free hand, he cups her face, dragging his thumb across her cheek tenderly.

                (She has to close her eyes just so she doesn’t pull away instinctively)

                When her eyes finally open again, still in that vulnerable place that just waking has brought her, he is still watching. Her stomach flips, and she braces her palms against his chest. His heart is beating rapidly beneath them, and it is somewhat a comfort to know that he is reacting just as nervously (and a comfort that his heart still feels _real_ ).

                “I understand the whole sleep talking thing but what I don’t understand is the princess dragon dream and why I’m in it.”

                She rolls her eyes and her gaze flicks down slightly, noting the exact way his lips curve. She is taken with the sudden impulse to see how that smile tastes, just for a moment, before her mind catches up and tells her not to cross that line (they’ve been careful about that). “You of all people don’t understand me dreaming about princesses and dragons?”

                During the last days of catch-up, they had talked about the time they missed. She had told him of how she broke the curse, so he knew about sheer panic and true love potions and a gilded sword through the center of a giant beast.

                He cocks his head to the side, and his hand slides down to her neck, lightly bringing her closer. “No, that I get. Why am I there?”

                She is close enough that she can discern the fact that he’s already been up, the slight hint of cinnamon toothpaste tickling her nose. She slips one arm up his shoulder, letting her chest rest against his with her hand between them. “I guess … because I kind of took you with me,” she mumbles out, a blush tingeing her cheeks.

                His brow furrows before one pops up, question plain on his face. Still, his fingers are soothing, laying slow circles at the base of her skull.

                She rests her head fully on his shoulder before picking her left arm up in proof. “I told you. Always there,” she clarifies.

                His gaze is transfixed on the leather. She has explained the significance of the ties earlier (the one time she’d let slip how important he is … was … _is_ ). Something about the stir of blues and browns and greys, the stormy build of his irises, tells her he is still having trouble comprehending it.

                “Graham,” she says softly, and his eyes snap to hers easily. She opens her own a little wider, taking him in (all messy hair and stuck lashes and thick stubble). “You helped me, so much,” her breath hitches, and she swallows audibly. “ _Of course_ you were there.”

                His rises slightly and for a moment she thinks ( _this is it, she’ll remember how it feels_ ) but instead his forehead meets hers, and his dark lashes flutter closed. She releases a low breath, and comes slightly closer, following him back to his pillow, her hair curtaining them into a protective cocoon. Their noses bump gently as he rocks his forehead into hers, just keeping contact as he moves ever so slightly from one sway to the next (she’s known love two other times, but somehow this feels more intimate than anything she’s done before).

                His hands cautiously round her waist, so light and so familiar. She can feel in that moment just how it was in the last one, how he had rested his palms along her hips as they kissed, letting her take the lead, not pushing … just waiting (was he waiting now?).

                Finally, his eyelids part and he looks at her with something akin to reverence. “I would follow you anywhere.”

                And in that dim light of morning, tucked in the corner of her bedroom, under the cover of blonde curls and only seeing truth this close up, she lets herself believe.

                “Just try to be corporeal from now on, okay?” she asks hesitantly.

                He smiles. As she watches, a tear catches on his cheekbone (oh, when did she start crying?). “I’ll try.” His accent is low and deep, reminding her that sleep still clung to them both. She uses that as reason why she is allowing herself to be this vulnerable.

                (But it’s just him)

                He dips cautiously forward, and his lips meet the corner of her mouth, feather-light to the point where she thinks she’s imagining it. A small sigh escapes her, and she lifts her head, pressing an equally weightless kiss just below his eye, catching her own teardrop.

                It seems to seal the promise.

                “You should know something, too,” she says after a beat.

                “What’s that?” he asks.

                She opens her mouth, but finally lets a smirk play over her features, letting on to the return of the teasing. “You snore.”

                He grins, the moment losing its heavy thread but still clinging to something deeper. “So do you.”


End file.
